Within the Life of a Single Cigarette
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: It is known as London's most gruesome unsolved mystery. It has but one name: Jack the Ripper. Drabbles for Sherlock Holmes versus Jack the Ripper. Sister fic of Fog in the Evening. If you have played the game, you will understand the title.


_I figured since I was already caught up in the PC world of Sherlock Holmes, I might as well go on with it (nevermind the fact that I have half-a-million unfinished stories I **should **__be updating...*cough*). But these are not for that gruesome Awakened - no, these are...*drumroll* Jack the Ripper!  
I'm not done with the game yet (not even close...*hehe*), but when inspiration hits me, you can be dang-well sure you'll be the first to know. *wink*  
Just in case it's too cryptic to understand, this one is set near the beginning of the mystery. Holmes has politely and dishonestly promised Inspector Abberline that he will no longer be a part of the "Buck's Row murderer" case - and after Abberline leaves 221b, Holmes immediately sends Watson to the Whitechapel district to be his eyes and ears of investigation. Which probalby wouldn't have been such a bad idea, seeing as he was still technically keeping his end of the peace treaty with Scotland Yard while still being able to solve the case, if it wasn't for the fact that Watson was all alone, dressed as a respectful gentleman in the midst of a gory murderer's playground...*shakes head disapprovingly at Holmes*_

**Locate**

"_Oh, Watson, Watson! Is it only now, after many hours of…'walking'…that you decide to pass on the important message that Inspector Abberline is waiting for?"_

"_But…um, no…But what are you doing here, Holmes?"_

"_I was worried, Watson! And with good reason, it would appear. Go, give the message to this policeman and let's go home. Nobody appreciates me hanging around here, you know, and it's freezing cold."_

* * *

He stood silently in his rooms overlooking the semi-deserted cobblestone lane of Baker Street, observing the scenery indifferently through steely, unseeing gray eyes, his thin arms crossed over his chest solemnly.

From somewhere deep in the fog beyond, low, echoing chimes indicated the new hour of the night.

It had been nearly four hours with no word.

He turned away from the window and his eyes fell upon the chart of possible motives that hung on the wall to the left of his chemical-stained experiment table. His gaze locked upon one in particular…

'_Madness…'_

A woman was lying dead in a mortuary, for no rational purpose perceptible other than cold, unfeeling slaughter of the innocent for pure entertainment. This man – or monster – slayed aimlessly, with no reasoning behind his choice of victim, no conceivable basis of motive. He was a mastermind, and a specialist – unpredictable and undetectable by even the sharpest of observers.

Surely even the bumbling Scotland Yard inspectors could see what he did; this was not the end of this killer's reign. Most assuredly, this was only the beginning. The streetwalker with lack of caution was only the first of countless to come.

His eyes narrowed darkly and he turned his face away, only to have the uncompromisingly candid face of the mantle clock remind him of the time once again.

If this madman killed savagely for nothing more than leisure activity, what was he capable of were he to kill with intention? What if he were to come to the conclusion – however unstable the foundation – that he was threatened, opposed by any man? He would not rest until that man was amongst his prey – what horrors would unfold upon the victim, were he to choose him with purpose, for the thought of self-preservation? What would he make him suffer for attempting to steal away his freedom?

Anyone loosely tied to this case was not safe. Anyone actively investigating in it was especially so.

The clock struck again. Thirty minutes past the hour.

And still there was no word.

With no further deliberation, he grabbed his coat and had from the peg near the door, caring no longer for selfish inspectors or forbidden cases, for promises of uninvolvement or psychological word tricks to avoid dilemmas from said officials.

He had but one man set in his mind to locate, and it was not the Buck's Row murderer.

* * *

_There it is, dears! The first Jack the Ripper drabble in the fandom, so far as I've read....I don't have any ideas for updates in mind, yet, but then again, I haven't played any further in the game yet either. So if anyone has any requests/ideas, please do let me know if you want me to attempt writing it for you. *wink*  
PS yes, I do realize there are some nonexistent words in the story above...*cough* "slayed" "uninvolvement" *cough*...but I couldn't find any words that felt right, so I decided to make up my own. I'm a writer, so I'm allowed. *biggrin*  
As always, reviews are appreciated!_


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